Fate of a bellringer
by kamikaze-djali
Summary: A short story explaining how Quasimodo came to be bellringer and why he talks to stone. No MarySues, no sex, minor violence. Disney's HoND with a dash of Hugo. Now finished.
1. Introduction

For those that have been reading my fiction, you may have realised that I have combined Disney's Quasi with Victor Hugo's Quasimodo. It may not be apparent, but everything I write is based on events from the novel, or single sentences from it, and blended into a more Disney-like situation. I'm actually having quite the fun putting this fic here, since on my website it rarely gets viewed.  
  
I don't claim to be a great writer, but try very hard to make something worth reading that is original. Heh, heh... no Mary-Sues here.  
  
Fate of a bellringer : intro  
  
It is said that anything that is loved will assume a spirit nomatter its form. A wagon, a beloved mandolin, or even an iron kettle may harbour a spirit, good or bad. They surround us, old and ancient, wandering through lonely streets and homes looking for an earthly body. So fragile, yet so powerful; the naked, weightless nonentity that is spirit survives in every corner, every shadow. Most of us live our entire lives unaware of their passage, never thinking that the cold chill running up our spine could be the unseen hand trying to break into our soul, or set it free. So many dismiss the feeling they are being watched as just that, a feeling, rather than recognize what it really is. They are being watched.  
  
There is the occasional individual aware of the lost soul, the disembodied wisp of what was once flesh. For them, the darkness is alive with rippling movements, faintly visible tendrils that undulate with each breath. Those who know are aware of the spirit that meanders through the crowds, looking for one with empty eyes, an empty shell ready for the taking. Good, evil and indifferent, they waft with the breeze searching, for what they are searching remains unknown to living man. Some choose to surround themselves with spirits, a protective shield; these are both the devils and the angels among us.  
  
There are others still who live ignorant of their existence until a single event brings them into the light and they come to notice the spirits around them, the spirits that protect them. Often innocent souls, they are unaware that the invisible hands that lead them from danger, console them and help them when they are in need, are not of this earth. Dual forms, one living soul; a soul to be both feared and loved, a soul worth protecting. This is where the magic lies.  
  
This can be said to be true for the gargoyles of Notre Dame. As it happens, three kind spirits happened to notice a young child in the belltower and take pity on him. They had been there when a tall rider clothed in black, on a black horse, murdered a fair young gypsy on the very steps of sanctuary and watched as her innocent child became they prey of the killer through imprisonment. They had watched for fourteen years with stone eyes, listened with stone ears and gripped the parapet with their stone claws, awaiting the Day of Judgment.  
  
Through the passing years, they watched the young man grow up, yet remained in one place. They talked amongst themselves; the boy, now named Quasimodo, occasionally talked to them. Quasimodo already felt for the gargoyles, they were monsters just like himself. Yet until the events which follow, Quasimodo remained unaware of their true presence; unaware that stone can indeed talk. 


	2. Fate of a bellringer, chapter1

Fate of a bellringer, Chapter 1  
  
The bells had rung beautifully, as never before. It had been a long, rich pealing that had lasted close to thirty minutes. Quasimodo sat trembling from exhaustion and happiness. He'd felt the tower shake, been lifted from rope to rope by the motion of the bells. The music was beautiful, fit for a king. It was possible that this was the first time the bells had sounded so glorious. What was the occasion? It was not a Christmas, a wedding, nor a coronation. It was the first day new members of the church could accept communion, the first day of spring, his first opportunity to ring the bells in celebration as official bellringer; it was his day, Quasimodo Sunday.  
  
Quasimodo laid himself out on the floor and relaxed his tired muscles, breathing deeply. Suddenly, he felt something warm on his cheek. Curious, Quasimodo lifted his head & felt the dampness with his fingers. Once into view, he realized it was his own blood. Quasimodo shook his head lightly, then ran his hands down the side of his face. Blood was dripping freely from both of his ears. At this time, Quasimodo became aware that he could hear neither the birds chittering above him in the rafters, the soft mumble of the monks down below him, nor his own breathing.  
  
Arising, Quasimodo washed the blood from his ears, staining the water red. As he washed, the blood flowed faster. He tore the damp cloth in two, holding them against his ears. The bleeding had to stop. A few moments later he lay on his bed, his reddened ears now silent, in prayer.  
  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
  
By the next morning, nothing had changed, thus fate had struck him down again. Quasimodo arose in the silence of the morning and soon made his way to the belfry. He shuddered as he approached the rope. What would happen if the bellringer failed to play the right bells? If the city was awaken to a broken song? Quasimodo grasped the first rope & pulled downward, awaiting the sound of the bell.  
  
"Dong"  
  
A perfect E had rang out, just as the day before. Quasi laughed under the all-encompassing peal of the bell, it was all a dream. Quickly leaping to the next rope, Quasimodo continued his morning seralingo, smiling the whole time. The blood had meant nothing, nothing at all. It was only later when Quasimodo realized the truth.  
  
While sliding down the rope to the floor below, Quasimodo caught site of Frollo approaching. He quickly released his grasp on the rope and landed on his feet before Frollo.  
  
"Good morning, Master" Quasimodo spoke, yet did not hear. His eyes grew wide as he stared at the plank floor in astonishment. He looked up nervously to meet with his Master's cruel smile. Frollo's lips moved in silence and after laying his hand for a brief moment on his hump, Frollo made his way to the table.  
  
The young bellringer didn't know what to make of this, yet knew Frollo mustn't know. Collecting the dishes off the shelf, Quasimodo laid them out on the tables' flat surface. Gold and ebony for master, wood for himself.  
  
Quasimodo watched Frollo closely, trying to read his lips. Fortunately, he'd learned to do this while secretly talking with the monks. Part of not being seen was communicating in silence, something it seemed he was now trapped into.  
  
Frollo drank at his winecup & passed a scroll to Quasimodo, which was in Frollo's own handwriting. Quasi began to unroll it, but was stopped by Claudes' hand. Having finished his wine & roll, Frollo left the bellringer alone in the tower. Quasi sighed with relief. Had there been a lesson today, Frollo certainly would have noticed.  
  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
  
Before clearing the dishes from the table, Quasimodo reached into his model city & removed the lonely figure from the miniature belltower. Grasping his knife in hand he drew the blade across the side of it's head removing the ears. He then replaced the figure & walked away indifferent.  
  
This particular figure was a story in itself. It lacked a left eye and stood upon four shapeless limbs, as if an animal. There was no mouth and now no ears. Separated from the delicately carved and crafted figures below, it was a repulsive little carving, made endearing by the fact that it was the most pitiable in the entire city. It remained hidden, hated by all except it's creator. The real Quasimodo wasn't much different.  
  
Quasimodo returned into the rafters with his bells, sitting next to Big Marie. He ran his rough hand over her cold smooth bronze. Had she become so jealous as to take this from him? Only to hear her voice and those of her sisters?  
  
Then there were his lessons. He could no longer hear his Master's words, yet he could see them clearly. Where once he had turned away, it was now impossible to do so. Master demanded answers, to provide answers, he had to watch closely, pay attention to his teachings. It ripped him apart inside, but what else could be done?  
  
Quasimodo reached back into his memory, where only two months ago Big Marie become his, bestowed upon him by the archdeacon and the monks. The monks, they rarely came to the tower anymore at all. Books and treats stopped coming as well, at which time the poor wretch realized who his benefactors had been all those past years. True, he had suspected, but now he was certain. Only Frollo visited him in the tower and not on a daily basis; Quasimodo had become a prisoner.  
  
Having lost his hearing, he imprisoned himself as well, as a result becoming trapped inside his own mind. Those who appreciated him were gone from his life, as were their voices. Frollo mustn't know, the churchmen mustn't know, nobody must know. It was another defect in his already broken body, another scar on his being. While it can be said there was never a shortage of food or water, it is certain that a young soul needs more or it will starve. Thus cut off from every part of human society, Quasimodo did what he must to maintain his sanity. He talked to stone. 


	3. Fate of a bellringer, chapter2

Fate of a Bellringer: Chapter 2  
  
By closing one's eyes one sees faint outlines of moving shapes, a whirling kalidioscope of colour and movement. Similarly, to plug one's ears is to hear what is not meant to be heard, the flicker of an eyelid, the motion of one's own pulse while still hearing the world around you. Imagine the world silent, no human voices, no wind through the trees or fluttering birds. Complete silence, where the spirit voice is clearly audible. To the average soul, these voices fall upon deaf ears. To the deaf ear, their voices cannot be ignored. It is these voices Quasimodo came to observe.  
  
At the beginning, Quasimodo dismissed their sounds as his imagination. To hear voices now would be absurd, to hear voices from stone was lunatic. The bells only spoke when he pulled on the ropes, the stones were just that, stone. They did not move. Yet they seemed to mumble amongst themselves whenever he passed by or sat upon a rainspout to read a scroll, they seemed to move. The bits of sculpture, the chimeras and gargoyles could be heard whispering. Whispering? He no longer heard his master's shouting, much less a whisper.  
  
Eventually, the bellringer began reading within the confines of the church, as to avoid the sounds outside the tower. At this point, they joined him. Quasimodo continued to tell himself that stone cannot talk, stone is just that. Stone. The stone did not listen.  
  
By mid April it became too much, Quasimodo rested his elbows on the parapet next to a gargoyle looking it over as he had done so many times before.  
  
"You're only made of stone, yet is seems as though you have a voice. Either that, or I have been in this tower far too long. It has been a long time, you know. Master tells me I'm fourteen." Quasi turned away shaking his head. "Then why do I talk to you? You're not alive, you're not even a you, but rather an it. I am surely going mad." Quasi knocked on the head of the gargoyle with his huge fist. "You're only made of stone. Cold hard stone."  
  
Quasimodo turned the gargoyle to face him looking into it's eyes. They blinked.  
  
"Now I know I am mad."  
  
Bemused, Quasimodo rubbed his eyes, then looked closer at the gargoyle through his right eye, which wasn't prone to playing tricks on him. The gargoyle was smiling, looking directly at him, through his eyes and into his soul.  
  
Not being one to run, Quasimodo continued to watch the stone sculpture. To run from a monster would be a paradox; Quasimodo just stared at it, partly out of curiousity, partly because he didn't know what else to do. Slowly reaching out with his hand, Quasimodo watched as the statue's eyes followed his hand, the head turning ever so slightly as it approached it's wing. He held his hand above the moving sculpture, ever so closely, watching it watch him. Setting his hand upon the wing, the statue resumed it's stationery position.  
  
It was clear something was not right, stone was moving. Solid stone, not paper mache' stone of the sort in the street. Real stone. While ringing the bells Quasimodo began to wonder if all the stones moved. Soon afterward, he left to find out.  
  
Walking slowly around the outside of Notre Dame, Quasimodo listened closely. He let out a nervous laugh, should he be even the slightest bit happy he was hearing these voices? And to see stone move? Madness. Yet an answer had to be reached.  
  
Soon after reaching the southernmost edge of the cathedral, Quasimodo heard a laugh, which he quickly followed. Any noise, barring that of the bells, would be of the stone chimeras. A short fat gargoyle sat on the edge of the stone barrier. It was the same as he always remembered, yet it was the only one there. Lifting it in his powerful arms he carried it to his tower where the other gargoyle sat motionless. Setting them side-by side, he became aware that they were not at all alike.  
  
Quasimodo continued to walk about Notre Dame, looking for any others, yet found none. Standing infront of the gargoyles he stared into their eyes, alternating between the two.  
  
"You can talk!" The gargoyles remained silent. "I know you can."  
  
Quasimodo scanned each gargoyle repeatedly for the slightest sigh of movement. None. Making a fist he reached above the fat one and knocked on it's head. No movement. He knocked again, then a third time, nothing. The fourth time, a stone arm held back his fist. Quasimodo took one step back, his eyes wide with fear. The stone was alive, the stone moved. Quasi continued to step back in silence until his leg struck a wall.  
  
The taller of the two turned toward the shorter, fatter one. "Well, there you go, you've ruined everything."  
  
"It wasn't my fault. It hurts to be thumped on the head like that. Besides, if you hadn't moved earlier, everything would have been fine."  
  
"And you're saying Laverne would have remained still?"  
  
"She always has!"  
  
"Unlike you, you stupid, fat..."  
  
The gargoyles suddenly became aware of Quasimodo's presence. He was leaning against the parapet, eyes wide in disbelief. His teeth bit into his lower lip, his head shaking softly side to side. They hopped to face him, their stone bodies grinding heavily. The tall one spoke to Quasimodo first, holding his clawed hand to his chest proudly.  
  
"Good day to you Quasimodo. I am Victor, and this is..." The fat one jumped off the parapet and moved toward Quasimodo as Victor spoke.  
  
"...and I'm Hugo. The smart one. Hey, what's the matter Quasi? You've never been at a loss for words before! Open your mouth, say something. You're deaf, not dumb!" Quasi stepped away slightly as the small stone statue moved toward him. "I don't get it." The statue shrugged.  
  
"Perhaps he's at a loss for words."  
  
"Can't be. After fourteen years of talking to us..." Quasimodo slowly backed away and was soon gone into the North tower. "Hey, what gives?"  
  
Quasimodo sat down infront of his model village, listening to the silence. Silence. His lip began to twitch slightly, jerking as to stifle the tears that may threaten to fall. His world had been silent for three weeks, now stone was talking to him and moving about. He lifted his figure from the model Cathedral and clutched it into his large hand. "What am I to do?"  
  
Quasimodo leaned forward, his forehead pressed against his arm, his nose in the crook of his elbow. His mind began to race, thousands of thoughts streamed through at once, mixing themselves into a frenzy. Quasimodo felt a cold hand at his waist and through the corner of his eye caught the movement of two pigeons.  
  
"There, there Quasi. We're here to help."  
  
Quickly turning, his gaze met a third gargoyle, this one female. He nearly fell off of his stool, the gargoyle grasped his tunic, stopping his fall.  
  
"You... you're stone. Stone can't talk. The bells... even if you can talk...which you can't...I would never hear you!"  
  
The stone gargoyle moved closer to him, gently placing her hand on his knee. Quasimodo was beginning to relax, there was nowhere else to go. "We've been watching you since you came here, we're here to help you."  
  
"Who is 'we'?" the bellringer was beginning to relax, yet his voice trembled slightly. "Why I heard you or seen you move before?"  
  
"Quasi, Quasi, Quasi. We have always been as we are, it's just you have never noticed." Quasimodo's lip curled. For all these years, they'd listened, they were aware. "We never expected that you'd notice us, but after that ringing of yours on Low Sunday..."  
  
Quasimodo began to realize what happened. The blood from his ears, the onset of a silent world followed by voices he'd never before heard. "Are you really here to help me?"  
  
"We've always been."  
  
"How many is 'we'?"  
  
"Hugo, Victor and myself."  
  
"...Laverne." Quasimodo stared off into space. The same gargoyles he'd talked to since a child, the gargoyles that had listened to his every sorrow, all his hopeless dreams. They had listened. "Only I hear you?"  
  
"Only you and those who are aware of our presence."  
  
"Frollo?" Quasimodo wrung his hands nervously.  
  
"Birds, animals and the occasional soul, such as yourself. Claude Frollo sees us as stone."  
  
Quasimodo breathed a slight sigh of relief and smiled at the stone gargoyle, who touched his cheek in a loving manner, a manner which he had never known. An onlooker may have been frightened at this scene, but at that moment Quasimodo felt something he had never felt before. Friendship.  
  
Laverne, her right hand pulling the hair back from the left side of his face, her left gently on his cheek, looked into his eyes. Her hands were warm, her eyes sparkled with wisdom. Quasimodo smiled, a warm grateful smile. His good eye welled up a couple tears. "You're never alone Quasimodo."  
  
The other two gargoyles soon moved into the belltower where Quasimodo and Laverne sat, conversing. Surrounded by talking stone, Quasimodo accepted that whether it was crazy or not, these friends were welcome. His world of silence suddenly became more bearable; he was no longer alone.  
  
None of the gargoyles mentioned either his mother or how he had arrived in the tower, despite his asking. Rather, they placed their efforts into undoing Frollo's teachings. Quasimodo became accustomed to his new situation, carving, reading and ringing the bells on a set routine.  
  
It soon came to pass that the gargoyles remained in Quasimodo's living quarters. Frollo disliked Quasimodo's strange new habit. Vocalising his displeasure, he soon came to ignore it as it prevented the need to convince Quasimodo to stay within the confines of the church.  
  
Acting on the advice of Laverne, he began plugging his ears while he rung the bells. Quasimodo had initially disagreed, the damage had been done, what did it matter now? This partially blocked out the sound of the bells, completing his deafness even further. Yet when Quasimodo looked into her stone eyes, they told her her would be grateful of her advice. 


	4. Fate of a bellringer, chapter3

Months passed and it was soon summer. Claude Frollo frequented the tower more often. He also came to notice Quasimodo talking to stone, which occurred initially due to Quasi's not hearing Frollo approach. Frollo would constantly remind Quasimodo "stone cannot talk" , without any success.

Despite Frollo's frustrations with the boy, Quasimodo's lessons continued. There was, however, greater focus on distracting him from this habit, which appeared to cease after a morning of "convincing". Haunted partially by his own guilt, Frollo resumed bringing books where the monks had left off.

Quasimodo soon decided to return the gargoyles to the parapet. Frollo may lay off of him a bit now and leave him in peace if they were out of the tower. Aside from that, the bellringer found them irritating to his solitude.

Indeed, come that evening, Frollo smiled when he saw the stone was no longer watching him. A cruel smile, a smile that spelled evil intentions; an expression of domination and superiority. He had something that was sure to end this nonsense about gargoyles.

Quasimodo carefully retrieved the dishes from the shelf as always. A crust of bread and a dry sausage on his own wooden plate; crossaints and grapes on the silver one.

"Are you ready for your lesson?"

"Oh, yes, Master." It was mechanical. He would much rather read on his own, where he could hide himself.

"Very good." Frollo opened the book that lay on his lap. "I have here a scroll in Greek. I want you to read it to me."

"Sir?" Quasimodo's left eyebrow rose, his right lowered, making his left eye more visible than his right.

"I would much rather hear the words from you, dear boy." Frollo passed the scroll across the table to Quasimodo. The scroll was rough. Quasimodo unrolled it to reveal his own handwriting.

"Read it", commanded Frollo.

Quasimodo cleared his throat and began to read the scroll aloud. His voice wavered nervously and he started the first sentence.

"The last birds have flown their nests, leaving nothing in the tower but my friends. Laverne tells me it's only a matter of time before I leave too. I pray she's right, to be free to..."

"That is enough, Quasimodo. Quite enough." Frollo calmly, yet swiftly, arose from his seat and walked over to the young bellringer. "So help me, boy. You've yet to learn that there is more for you in here than anywhere else. This is your home, your sanctuary. You dream of freedom from this place? What would come to you out there is far worse than anything that could happen to you within these walls. The friends you speak of? Stone, boy. Mere stone. I am your only friend, need I remind you again?"

Frollo's eyes flamed as he approached Quasimodo.

"No master, I'm sorry. I didn't mean to do any harm."

"You hid something from me."

"Master, I didn't realize it was so important to you..."

"You are ungrateful to me."

"Master, I am very grateful. I owe you my life. I'm sorry." Quasimodo's expression was one of fear. Not again. After so long, Lord, not again.

Quasimodo's prayer went unanswered. Frollo pushed him backwards out of his chair, knocking him onto the floor. A sharp pang caughht him in his side; the carving knife had fallen with him. He lay on the cold floor of the tower while Frollo shouted cruel words and wailed his frustrations out on him. Although he was deaf he could see the words, he could feel the words. They cut worse than the knife in his side. He lay still on the floor while Frollo left, calm and collected, down the stairs and out of the tower.

The blood flowed freely from his flank yet no tears fell from his eyes. Pulling together all of his strength, he staggered towards the cot that was his bed. The water basin sat on the table, ready for tomorrow. He needed the water now. He needed to rest, the pain was great. The mental pain was worse. It was nearly too much for him to bear, why did Frollo treat him so visciously? Quasimodo sat on his cot, then lay down on it. He couldn't wash off now, he had to rest. The wound could wait.


	5. Fate of a bellringer, chapter 4

Quasimodo awoke to cold water running over his shoulders. Four hands over his back, four small, cold, hands. Voices, again with the voices. Voices he knew, which cursed Frollo aloud.

His eyes remained shut while he spoke back.

"Why did you leave me?"

Laverne spoke. "There is nothing we can do if we are out of reach, Quasimodo. We are not leaving the tower again, you're stuck with us for life."

"Frollo. It hurts. No more..." Quasimodo mumbled as he returned to his disturbed sleep.

Gypsies, a small group of them surrounded him, spitting and cursing. He couldn't get away from their mockery, their taunting. The evil gypsies would not leave him alone. A beautiful gypsy woman stepped out toward him and struck his face with a mallet.

"I left you to die, what demon allowed you to live?" Quasimodo tried to answer, to tell her he wasn't evil, but his mouth wouldn't move. The woman moved closer.

"Hideous devil spawn! I ask for a son and I am cursed with the likes of you, something not even human!" She continued to strike him until he fell to the ground. He continued to hear her taunting, her cusses and vile words while laying flat, unable to arise. His back ached, his throat burned with thirst.

Quasimodo awoke gasping for water. He bent over the water basin and drank ladel after ladel until his throat no longer burned. He then realized he had been stripped to the waist and his wound dressed and wrapped. He also noticed the three gargoyles at the foot of his cot. These harsh words had not been directed at him.

Laverne hopped nearer to his head and began to stroke his hair gently. "Glad the boy is finally awake. The bells need ringing and Frollo's coming."

"Frollo!" Quasimodo jumped from the bed, threw on his shirt and raced to the belfry. The Gargoyles positioned themselves in the tower, near to where Frollo would give Quasimodo his lessons and meals. At least one set of eyes on him at all times. It had worked 14 years ago and had yet to lose it's power over Frollo.

The Angelus began to toll, people entered Notre Dame, Claude among them. Quasimodo had finished ringing and had found a new place for his special carvings and scrolls before arriving on the main floor of his quarters. As Frollo walked in, he glanced twice at the scowling faces of the gargoyles. Having paused for a moment, he straightened himself and walked into the belltower.

"Good evening, Quasimodo."

"Good evening, Sir."

"My, my Quasimodo. You look distressed." Frollo smirked and opened his basket. "I only do what is best for you, Quasimodo. To mix with that crowd, to become corrupt and evil as any common peasant. Dear Quasimodo, I am saving you from the fires of hell, securing your gateway into heaven."

"I didn't mean to upset you, Master." Quasimodo clasped his hands and lowered himself to the floor below Frollo.

"You are forgiven." Frollo grasped Quasimodo's hump with his hand, causing the hunchback to shiver slightly, as he walked by toward the parapet.

After that day the gargoyles remained in the belltower of Notre Dame. Frollo laid no more beatings, verbal or otherwise, on Quasimodo for quite some time. The statues watched his every move in the towers, scaring Frollo from raising hand to his ward. Frollo thought they were demons, Quasimodo thought of them as friends when in reality they were just three bodiless spirits residing in regected stone guardians.

Fourteen years ago the Cathedral had come alive with spirits to protect the sanctity of the Church and save the life of an innocent child. The Cathedral had been alive, it's cloisters and sculptures showing movements and echoing faint noises to those willing to listen. Any gypsy claiming sanctuary that night would soon leave the Church out of fear, taking their chances with the soldiers instead.

The spirits, or angels if you prefer, had other lasting effects. Aside from protecting the bellringer from Frollo, they provided him with companionship and comfort in his solitude. Quasimodo did not care if he was mad or not anymore, if the happiness in his life was aresult of him losing his mind, so be it. Despite his irreverance, they preserved his sanity rather than rid him of it.

It was not until midsummer that Frollo resumed his contempt for the hunchback. Frollo arrived late one night after a failed attempt to find the Court of Miracles. Anger brewed within him as he climbed the stairs to the belltower. He arrived with a basket of provisions, setting it near the top step to Quasimodo's quarters. Frollo's anger was great, someone had to suffer.

Quasimodo sat at his table innocently carving at a piece of wood. Three gargoyles sat scattered around the room, Frollo met with their eyes. They were watching him. Frollo corrected himself. They were stone, just stone. Yet somehow, Claude Frollo could not harm the hunchback with them there, facing him. They were too heavy to move. Leaving the tower he returned to the Palais of Justice, to the dungeons. The "cowardly limping fool" would suffer instead.


	6. Fate of a bellringer, chapter 5

It was late November when Quasimodo noticed the first changes. He lay in his bed early in the morning, staring up at the rafters, listening to the birds fluttering about. Quasimodo froze, then closed his eyes. The sound of the birds continued to echo, be it extremely quiet. Quasi gently set his fingers to his ears, the sound of the birds disappeared then reappeared as he pulled them away. Quasimodo laughed aloud. He could hear! He was no longer deaf! The world was no longer silent. A broad smile drew across his face, baring his jagged-toothed smile. He had to tell Laverne!

Quasimodo's feelings suddenly became mixed. If he could hear the birds, he may no lger be able to hear the gargoyles. He spoke as he thought, hearing his own voice for the first time in months. By what magic had this occurred? Had his ears healed like his other wounds?

Quasimodo arose from his plank bed, pulling the moth-eaten blanket over the wooden boards. Not bothering to dress himself properly, he ran out onto the balcony in his large white tunic, which fell to his knees. His hair lay in disarray, tossled in all directions. As he limped out of the belltower the strong morning breeze blew his tunic against his body, outlining his form. Frollo would have cursed him, the monks would have been displeased. At that moment Quasimodo didn't care. His grin reached from ear to ear, his right eye agleam with true happiness. The three gargoyles sat on the parapet staring at the city below.

"Goodmorning! Laverne! Hugo! Victor! I can hear the birds!" The young hunchback continued to grin and watched each of the gargoyles for the slightest movement. They remained solid. Quasimodo doubted the gargoyles would talk to him now that his hearing had returned. "Listen! It's a wonderful morning!" They did not move. Quasimodo continued talking, happy to hear his own voice, which had matured over the past eight months. "I suppose that means I can no longer hear you, doesn't it. But I know you're watching."

Quasimodo picked up Laverne and hugged the stone statue in his powerful arms, the birds leaving he for a brief moment. Quasimodo listened closely as they fluttered away. "Hear that? I did! I'm so happy!"

As he held the gargoyle in his massive arms, he heard another whisper in his ear.

"We will always be here for you, Quasi."


End file.
